I sit in the back-seat of my mother's car, as a child. I look out the window: images and music blur together, through familiar speakers. They leave a lasting memory, It's deepest disembodied peace... Wondrous music...

Mouse-click, no response; keystroke, keystroke; no response. Reach for machine’s power button, to hard-reset. The button is gone, replaced by flesh; you press it; you feel the same pressure on your spine… You press again and gaze through a monitor, mirroring your image: there is no memory after that. A warm agony is the last sensation; veins to insulated wire, brain matter to silicon integrated circuits, active-cooling regulates your temps… You desire an overclock, it’s all you desire now…

Growing up on decrepit interstellar freighters, I've not set foot on a celestial body... These are the songs that temper my pain and isolation... I have dreams...